


Sons of Duma

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Series: Wings of Rebellion [10]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Adoptive family, Alternate Universe- Berkut is Valid, Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, Any incest shippers will be blocked, Character Study, Familial Love, Family, Gen, Lima Beans AU, alternate POV, and promptly slam-dunked through the nearest portal to hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 00:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15108434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: "You worry for him," Rudolf says."Of course I do," Berkut replies. "He's my brother."





	Sons of Duma

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe the lima beans AU made berkut valid

Berkut is four when his parents die, and they say it's brutal— and Berkut figures such, given how deep the blood stains his clothes, given how much his nursemaid scrubs him to try and get it all out in the bath. And yet, when they ask him, he can't remember. It's as if there's a gaping, yawning void where his memory of the event would be, he tells them, though not in those exact words, because he's four. It's the truth, he insists. One minute he woke from his nap to come downstairs, the next a servant told his father that he has a visitor, and the one after that, he's sitting on the rug with blood on his hands, his chest, his face, and his parents in crumpled forms on the ground. He remembers nothing in between.  
  
So it goes.  
  
After a while, since he can't remember and it only upsets him to try, people stop paying it mind. His parents become names carved in a rememberance stone, end dates written on the parchments in the records hall, "in memorium" etched in the placard beneath their painting the king has hanging in the castle halls. Berkut is four but he remembers his parents well, since they're all one has when one is young, and keeps his back straight and his lips stiff because they told him it wasn't strong to cry.  


* * *

  
  
Uncle raises him— well, sort of. Uncle is there for the easy parts and Massena and the nursemaids do the rest. But it's Uncle who takes him on walks through the castle gardens and Uncle who gets him a riding teacher better equipped to handle a boy his age and Uncle who arranges what needs to be arranged to raise a prince. He sits at the head of the table in the dining hall and when Berkut is big enough he sits at his uncle's immediate left, gripping his fork in one tiny hand, his feet dangling off the ground.  
  
"You needn't be afraid, nephew," Uncle tells him on one of their walks. Berkut is upset because he's afraid of the dark corners of the nursery where his bedside candle won't reach. "The darkness is nothing to fear."  
  
"It could have monsters," Berkut says. "They could take me like they took mother and father."  
  
"Ah, could," Uncle says. "But will they?"  
  
Berkut doesn't know how to answer that.  
  
Uncle pats his shoulder. "There are many things the darkness could hold," he says. "But keep your back straight and face them with honor. Have faith in the light, and you needn't fear the dark."  
  
Father always told him similar— but not quite the same way. Father said that children of Duma should never be afraid, should never buckle. Father said nothing of faith in one's shield. Berkut isn't old enough to start thinking this, but it plants the seed that perhaps his father was wrong.  
  
Uncle is only there for the easy parts, but he does it better than Berkut's parents ever did.  


* * *

  
  
Uncle has a son. His name is Alm and he's younger than Berkut— still a baby, in fact, drooling and cooing and gurgling because he hasn't grown the coordination or strength to do anything else. Berkut finds it hard to believe that this boy, who has chubby red cheeks and tiny hands and can only crawl, not walk, will be king someday, but nobody asked Berkut.  
  
They're raised together, as brothers, and eventually Berkut grows to think of them as such. Alm is always a step behind him, squishy-cheeked and beaming even as they grow into manhood side by side, and Berkut thinks he's silly and childish, but even in their younger years when Berkut doesn't understand that just because he's full of strange feelings inside that he doesn't like doesn't mean everyone else has to dislike him too, Alm is like a brother, and Berkut thinks that must be what they are. He remembers he had his own parents even if time washes away their faces and voices from his memory, and remembers that Alm is the boy who will become king, and yet— he knows he and Alm, raised together, are brothers.  
  
Brothers, Berkut thinks, must go beyond the circumstances of one's birth.  
  
Berkut's not sure what he thinks of it. But when they're young Alm likes to crawl into his lap and pat his cheeks with his little baby hands, and Berkut doesn't think he minds.  


* * *

  
  
Trouble brews in Rigel, simmering on the back burner even as the rebellion in the south— the Requiem, they call it, when King Lima's eldest daughter set out to oust him from power and usher in a new era of rule to Zofia. Very few people liked Lima, as Berkut understands it, and the Rigelians are no exception. Rudolf has no desire to conquer Zofia, but he worries about the safety of the Accord. Should Zofia break it, the consequences would affect everyone, regardless of where they are and what they fight for. (Rudolf says it is important to be aware of the consequences of one's actions, as ignorance is not a shield.)  
  
So he decides to send Alm to scout it out— a diplomatic mission, he says. Alm is seventeen, nearly a man, and he needs to have the experience of representing his country. Berkut is in charge of border security, and he knows how important a job it is, but he's not sure about Alm being given such a task.  
  
"Oh, don't worry about me," Alm tells him on the day he leaves with the envoy. "It's just a diplomatic trip. I'll be back before you know it and I'll have stories to tell, too."  
  
"You're taking this too lightly," Berkut scolds him in reply. "It's not a vacation. You're representing all of Rigel to a country full of Zofians."  
  
But Alm just laughs and waves as he leaves, and Berkut scowls because he doesn't want anyone to see his worried frown. It's not every day you see your brother off on his first princely-type mission, so one could blame his worry on that, but Berkut's not sure that's all it is. He has a bad feeling in his gut about sending Alm onto foreign soil, and can't put his finger on why.  


* * *

  
  
Rudolf, at least, seems to understand.  
  
"You worry for him," Rudolf says.  
  
"Of course I do," Berkut replies. "He's my brother."  
  
Rudolf seems amused by that, though Berkut can't imagine why. He gazes at the view of the kingdom, at the towers and buildings of the sprawling Rigelian capital city, through the narrow windows of the war room. There's no war, but there is a map full of markers and pegs and routes drawn in colored inks. Rudolf uses it to plan stations for the army, defending the roads and fields from bandits and predators. Berkut will return to the border soon, but he's glad he has a chance to speak with Rudolf before going back.  
  
"He is your brother," Rudolf says. "But it is him who will be king."  
  
"I know that," Berkut replies. "We've known that since we were young. I never thought I'd be king. I'm not your—" he cuts himself off before he can say 'real son,' but Rudolf knows what he was going to say.  
  
Rudolf frowns— less of a frown and more of a twitch of his lips, subtle enough that Berkut only notices because this is the man that half-raised him.  
  
"If something happens to Alm," Berkut says instead. "Then Rigel is left without an heir."  
  
"She will still have you," Rudolf replies.  
  
That sits uncomfortably on Berkut's chest. He'd thought of what it must be like to be king, but not with envy. He's thought of holding that kind of power, but not with the desire to hold it for himself. It may be because he's never been expected to hold that power in the first place, always knowing that he would step aside and watch as Alm knelt before Duma's statue and his father placed the heavy crown upon his head.  
  
Berkut's not sure. Berkut's not sure about a lot of things.  
  
Rudolf sighs, pushing back the curtain where it fell over his favorite window. He looks at his kingdom with weariness in his eyes. Rudolf is old— old enough to be Berkut's grandfather, certainly, and has probably seen Rigel through quite a lot.  
  
"I have concerns about Rigel," Rudolf says. "The east has been plaguing my mind. Reports have come in of zealots preaching of Duma's madness, of fiery wrath, of inevitable destruction looming on the horizon."  
  
Berkut frowns. "They sound like lunacy," he says. "Ravings of madmen."  
  
"And so I dismissed the first reports as such," Rudolf replies. "But they kept coming. They're coherent. Organized. And they're doing nothing, so far, but speaking of death and terrors and bewitchings, so there is no proof of any plot. But you see my cause for concern."  
  
Bewitchings. Berkut's never met a witch, but the sketches chill him to the bone.  
  
"Nobody would do such a thing," Berkut says. "Bewitching is evil. It's a sin."  
  
"There are many sins in the world," Rudolf says.  
  
"Would good Rigelians truly base a school of worship on such?" Berkut says.  
  
Rudolf sighs again. "Not all Rigelians are good ones, my boy."  
  
"Still." Berkut frowns. He turns the little iron military crests representing troops on the war map so they're all facing the same direction— towards Rudolf, the king, the shepherd of Rigel. "Are you going to do anything?"  
  
"Until I have proof they're causing significant strife, I cannot," Rudolf replies. "But I can take Alm out of the line of fire. I can protect him."  
  
It hits Berkut that that's what he's doing. Even on foreign soil, with Alm out of Rigel, he's safe from whatever madness may be lurking in the east. Rudolf may be the shepherd, leading the people ever onwards, but Alm— Alm is the future, a boy full of potential to do Rigel either good or ill, and Rudolf has sworn, both as a king and as a father, to protect the future that Alm represents.  
  
Berkut swallows, and straightens his back. "Then I will, too," he says. "I will return to the border. I will see to it that Rigel is safe for when Alm returns to her."  
  
Rudolf smiles at him and pats his shoulder. "Rigel should be proud to have such a protector," he says.  
  
"I should be proud to have a country as fine as Rigel to protect," Berkut replies. But he does smile, just a bit, and salute.  
  
"Duma protect you, on your journey back to the border," Rudolf says.  
  
"Duma protect you," Berkut replies. "Father."  


* * *

  
  
Berkut returns to the border. It is two weeks before he realizes he hasn't heard a word from Alm. It is three before he can return to Rudolf to say so.  
  
It's six weeks to shake down every messenger and informant they can for information. Eight to call the council together to discuss what happened. Nine to send a message to Zofia, asking where their prince is.  
  
It's eleven weeks for Zofia to reply demanding where their princess is and to deny knowledge of the prince. Twelve for Rigel to deny knowledge of the princess.  
  
It's fourteen weeks to break the Accord.


End file.
